


Picture Perfect

by MissMorwen



Series: BuckyNat Prompts [21]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: BuckyNat Secret Santa, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Lingerie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-14 13:09:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9183124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissMorwen/pseuds/MissMorwen
Summary: He pauses with one knee on the bed and just beams at her. “Sweetheart, you look like you stepped out of one of those postcards the soldiers used to trade back during the war. And I mean that in the nicest possible way.”***********Buckynat prompt: Post CA:TWS Bucky finds Natalie Rushman's photos





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mushewhosta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mushewhosta/gifts).



It's Tony who brings it up. And to be honest, Natasha is mildly impressed it took this long.

Tony’s not used to riding inside the Quinjet and doing nothing; sitting still has never been his strong suit. But with the left boot busted by a cleverly hidden landmine, it’s not like he has a choice. So it takes him approximately four seconds to spot Natasha’s black and very utilitarian bra when James peels her suit back to examine a shallow gash on her upper arm. Partly because James is drawing attention to it by letting out an unending stream of swears as he examines the wound, and partly because he’s Tony. He loves Pepper, there is no doubt about that, but the day Tony doesn’t ogle a bare back is the day they put him in the ground.

“You getting old, Romanoff? Your underwear used to be much nicer,” Tony says.

“I don’t know. How about you wear a lacy g-string under your suit next time and you let me know how you like that,” she shoots back.

Clint snorts in vaguely amusement, half asleep from exhaustion and, really, his sense of humor has always been lousy. It’s one of the reasons why they get on so well. But then Wanda decides to add to the already intelligent and stimulating conversation.

“Bulletproof lingerie. You should look into it, Tony. Could be the next big hit for Stark Industries,” Wanda says in a flawless dead-pan tone of voice, that Natasha is more than a little proud to have helped her perfect.

James on the other hand doesn't react. In fact he emphatically doesn’t react while the rest are laughing and exchanging bad ideas for combat underwear.

Natasha doesn’t say anything either and makes plans for leaving his computer open on a picture search for Natalie Rushman while she goes on a shopping trip in the near future. Just to give him some context for what she’s planning on buying.

 

* * *

 

The thing about being a spy as well as an Avenger is that private plans always have to take second place.

The wound on Natasha’s arm has barely had time to heal before an undercover agent in Russia disappears after sending a message about a big find. She’s most likely been killed, but Natasha’s gut tells her that just maybe the agent went underground instead. So the only thing for it is to try to locate the agent and the only person close enough to her to find her is Natasha.

Plans for dressing in frilly things and riding James till neither can walk straight be dammed.

 

* * *

 

She calls James after she finds the first concrete evidence that the agent is still alive. As a present for herself that turns into one for him, too, by the end of the call.

“You have a computer nearby?” she asks after they’ve talked for a while, never mentioning her current mission or how it’s going. She hears the sound of the couch creaking over the phone and smiles.

“Yeah, why?”

“Could you do an image search for Natalie Rushman for me?”

He doesn’t answer as seconds tick by. Natasha can almost hear his brain working. “Why?” he finally asks.

“You know her?”

“No,” he says and doesn’t continue with ‘but I can damn well guess who it is,’ even though he must be choking on snide remarks about her love of alliterative cover names.

“Do the image search and we’ll talk about it later.”

James doesn’t exactly promise to do it, but he doesn’t say no either and they end the call soon after.

_You knew I’m meeting with Fury in 1/2 an hour_ , he texts not half a minute after saying goodbye.

_Maybe_ , she texts back.

_You know what’s a surefire way to end up dead in a ditch? Showing up for a meeting. With mother fucking Fury. With the Washington Monument stuffed down the front of my pants._

_Oh honey, it’s not that big. And I’m sure you’ll come up with a solution to that problem_.

_Dead in a ditch_ , he texts again

_Gotta go. Love you, sweets_ , she texts as a goodbye and shuts the phone off. At least now he’s missing her as much as she is missing him.

 

* * *

 

Natasha isn’t completely heartless, so when the agent is finally successfully extracted, Natasha goes shopping in Paris.

 

* * *

 

“Honey, I’m home,” she announces as she closes the door to their apartment behind her.

James pads into the hallway with a still purring Liho cradled like a baby in his left arm. His feet are bare, the jeans slung low on his hips are only a couple of washes away from falling to pieces, and what right does he have to look that good like that?

Natasha closes the distance between them and greets him with a kiss, tiptoeing as she stretches to wrap her arms around his neck, careful not to squeeze Liho as she does so. She doesn’t let go until her heart is thumping hard inside her chest and then it’s only to lean back and look up at him. Not that he lets go either, his right arm is still wrapped firmly around her waist.

“Welcome home,” he says and smiles a smile that crinkles the skin around his eyes.

Home isn’t the apartment, with reinforced doors and windows, and weapons catches everywhere. Home isn’t even New York, even though she’s been living here on and off since she left the Red Room. Home is his arms around her, his blue eyes shining down on her.

“Sap,” she says, mostly to herself, but also to James and his stupid grin, as well as to Liho and her inability to figure out which of the two she wants to bump her furry little head into.

“To be fair, you can only jerk off to the same pictures so many times before they lose their attraction,” he says without his adoring expression changing.

Huffing, she pulls out of the embrace, swinging the bags from her shopping trip as she walks away from him. “You don’t deserve this.”

He finally spots the black bags with suggestive French names printed on the side and burgundy tissue paper sticking out of the top. Liho mews dissatisfied as James ditches her unceremoniously.

“Why don’t you put it on and I’ll try to make up for it,” he says when he catches up with her.

Now that is more like it.

“I’m going to take a long, hot shower. When I come out of it, I want you try. It might take all night.”

Natasha isn’t religious, she didn’t have an upbringing where it was a natural part of it like James did, but she is pretty sure his smile would have made even saints want to sin.

 

* * *

 

There are lit candles on just about every flat surface when she steps out of the bathroom. But what makes her smile is the expression on his face when he sees her.

Her new robe is made of thick, creamy-white silk and it has tiny blossoms spreading from the bottom hem, up the front of it. It comes with a belt, but it is still in the bag, because she wants James to see what’s underneath. The bra, if you can call it that, consists of two triangles of black silk hold together by willpower and flimsy lace. It is surprisingly comfortable. The matching French knickers are made of considerably more fabric than the bra, but they feel about as insubstantial. Underneath them is a garter belt that technically doesn’t match since it’s made of stretchy satin and elastics, but it’s close enough. And she’s only wearing it to hold the burgundy silk stockings up.

Natasha twirls to let him see that the dark toes and heels are complemented by lines running up the back of her legs. He groans in appreciation. She’s not entirely sure he even notices the soft curls of her hair or the red lipstick.

“Cat got your tongue?” she asks, innocent like.

“Gimme a second. I wanna make sure I don’t fall over when I try to walk,” he deadpans.

Deciding to make it easier on him, Natasha comes to him instead.

The cotton tee is soft under her hands when she puts her hands flat on his chest, the body underneath it warm as ever and rock-hard. She glides her hands over it until she reaches the soft skin at the nape of the neck, up and up until her fingers are buried in his hair. He grins down at her when she tightens her hands in to fists. But she doesn’t kiss him like he wants her to. Instead she sucks his bottom lip in between her own two, biting it lightly before letting it go, stained red from her lipstick. Only then does she kiss him. He tastes of cigarettes and that Czech beer he seems to prefer lately. With a hand at the base of her skull, he deepens the kiss and she stops thinking.

She comes up for air again when she feels him pull away. He’s not, though, not really, his lips never leaving hers. He’s only moving towards the bed, pulling her with him as he goes. They move in perfect unison, like this was the battlefield instead of the bedroom. He stops just short of bumping into the bed, only then does he break the kiss.

His face is the picture of reverence as he slides the robe off her shoulders. It even gets folded neatly before he places it at the foot of the bed. She, on the other hand, doesn’t wait for him. Instead she crawls onto the bed and gets comfortable on her side with a hand supporting her head while he’s still stripping his tee and jeans off. To be fair, seeing James strip naked is a sight worth the impatience. Even if he does it with considerably less reverence than when he was removing her robe. His arm glints faintly in the candlelight and deep shadowy valleys form in the indents between his muscles.

He pauses with one knee on the bed and just beams at her. “Sweetheart, you look like you stepped out of one of those postcards the soldiers used to trade back during the war. And I mean that in the nicest possible way.”

“Does that mean you’re open to sharing? Because I was thinking about asking—“

He’s on top of her, trapping her with a body heavier than most men his size, before she has a chance to react. “Never,” he growls, low and threatening and so adorably mismatched with the gentle kisses he’s scattering down her neck to her clavicle.

Natasha laughs helplessly and it only makes him kiss her harder.

When he reaches her nipple, the laughter stops. His lips are oh so soft, his clever tongue wetting the fabric, his day-old stubble makes tiny scratching sounds as he moves over the silk, and and and

The unexpected bonus of having a wet triangle of silk over already hard nipples is that it feels like a tongue moving over them each time she shifts. And she sifts often as he moves down her stomach. It is delicious torture. This is one of the non-combat related things her training prepared her for: Having a man worship her body. What it didn’t prepare her for, is what happens when she loves him back. He has to pin her hips down with an arm across them when he settles between her legs and kisses her inner thighs.

He doesn’t even bother to remove the French knickers. With a finger hooked around the crotch of them, he moves them neatly out of the way. She’s aching for his touch already and would probably be embarrassed if she was able to feel any kind of shame when it came to her feelings for him. She isn’t so she’s not. What she is, is gasping for air when James’ tongue parts her, working hard and mercilessly at her clit.

He knows what he’s doing and he does it well.  Natasha buries her fingers in his hair when he slides two fingers into her and starts pumping at the same pace as his messy licks. With her legs wrapped around his head, he’s more at her mercy than she is at his. At least in theory. He sucks at her clit and the coil in her abdomen becomes almost unbearable tight.

Even with his left arm across her hips, she still arches off the bed as she comes.

He wipes his mouth on the sheet on his way up her body. It leaves a faint pink smear and it takes her a second or two to remember the lipstick she put on earlier. She allows him one kiss, soft and feathery, before she pushes him onto his back and straddles him with legs still shaky from the recent orgasm.

“Since you seemed to enjoy the view so much you should get the full experience,” she says and grins down at him.

It only makes him grin back.

To torment him, and to allow herself a bit more time to recover, she runs running her fingers down his chest. Following scars and indents between hard muscles, she makes her way down his torso to his cock. It twitches in the tight space between their bodies, eager and waiting.

Even dry, his lips still look pinker than usual and she bends down with one hand resting lightly on his chest. He kisses back, unhurriedly despite the tiny jerks of his hips each time she grinds down on him. His pulse climbs underneath her hand as she slides her tongue against his, and she groans as he sucks on and bites her bottom lip. When his fingers begin to dig into her hips, she decides to stop delaying and she lifts off him, angles his cock against her entrance, and sinks down on it.

He fills her up, completely, perfectly.

His lips part with a soft grunt and Natasha leans back, relaxing as her body gets used to him. It takes a few seconds before she begins to move, leisurely at first, lifting off him and pushing back down again. Leaned back, her body is left open to caresses and James takes full advantage of it, roaming all over her body with his hands. His thumbs brushing over nipples sends sparks along her nerves and she leans into the touch. He has the long fingers of a pianist, it only makes sense he can play her like an instrument.

 A low keening sound escapes her as an orgasm somehow much deeper than the first flows deep from within out to the tips of her fingers and toes. Only with his guiding hands on her hips does she manage to not let the even shift of her hips falter.

Her body is still buzzing as James gets closer to finishing, too. No longer content to guide her rhythm with his hands, he snaps his hips up into her. It would be easy to give in to the pleasure, ride one orgasm into the next, but she wants to see his face as he comes. She leans forward, supporting herself on the headboard with one hand, cupping his jaw with the other, her hair a scarlet waterfall around them.

He doesn’t close his eyes until his hips are jerking helplessly up into her and then he keeps them closed until the low desperate sounds have stopped. The blue of his eyes is barely visible when he looks at her, only a thin ring around bottomless black pupils. Natasha grins, kisses him, and slides off to snuggle against him.

“I’m kind of amazed you hadn’t seen those pictures before. The cover was in the files I leaked back when we took SHIELD down,” she says after a little while, drawing lazy circles on his chest.

“I never read those.”

“The SHIELD files or my files specifically?”

“Yours,” he says sounding like she just asked him if the world is flat or round.

She shifts onto her elbow so she can look at him. “Why not?”

“Why would I?”

“Knowledge is power,” she says frowning at him. She’d read his before she handed it over to Steve. She hadn’t even hesitated before doing so.

He shrugs one shoulder. ”Моя любовь, even if I could read your mind, I’d still be defenseless against you,” says the only man in the entire world who have ever managed to shoot and, more importantly, hit her twice.

Natasha doesn’t argue, because she knows it’s hopeless, but sits up to straddle his hips, his sides firm as she squeezes them with her thighs. “So the pupil has become the master,” she says in a deadly serious tone.

“Mistress,” he corrects her.

She wrinkles her nose in dissatisfaction. “Mistress sounds kinkier than master.”

“Well.” He slips a finger under a garter strap and pulls at it.

Despite feigned indifference James growing harder by the second under her and she rolls her hips to press against him. The silk of her panties is slick like a second layer of skin, but it adds friction that slick skin doesn’t have. She takes the slight flare of his nostrils as agreement with her persuasive argument, but adds, “If you think that’s kinky, you’ve got a surprise coming when you see the rest of what I’ve bought.”

“Yeah? Is that a promise? Do I get to see you in it today?”

“I didn’t say I would be the one wearing it.”

He frowns. “I hope you haven’t bought anything in yellow. I look half-dead in yellow.”

Natasha laughs and bends down to kiss him, his lips curved into a rude grin as he parts them and slides his tongue into her mouth. The kiss is soft, unhurriedly now that the immediate urges have been taken care of. She weaves her fingers into his soft hair and rolls her hips again, just to make sure James doesn’t forget his promise to make it up to her again.

He doesn’t.

In fact, he makes sure she barely even remembers what it is he was supposed to make up for by the end of the night. And she in turn shows him that she hasn’t bought anything in yellow. For him or for her.


End file.
